Magic Binds

CHAPTER 6

IT WAS MORNING and I came downstairs because Barabas was at the front door and Curran was in the shower.

“Kate,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” I held the door open.

He walked in and followed me to the kitchen

“Tea?” I asked. Peace offering.

“Yes, please.”

“Earl Grey, mint, chamomile . . .”

“Chamomile.”

I walked to the kitchen island, pulled a tin labeled TENSION TAMER off the shelf, and spooned some loose tea into a diffuser. Apparently his tension was in need of taming. This conversation would suck.

Silence stretched.

“Where is Christopher?” Kate Daniels, the ice breaker.

“Asleep in the hammock on the porch. He had a rough couple of days.”

“Julie said he burned Bullfinch’s Mythology.”

Barabas sighed. “I bought a beautiful leather-bound edition for his birthday and hid it in the closet in the spare room. He found it yesterday as I was about to leave. I went to say good-bye and found him burning it in the fire pit outside.”

So not only had he burned a book, he’d burned the book Barabas bought him. Of all the people Christopher cared about, Barabas was the most important. I was a distant second.

“Did he say why he burned it?”

Barabas shook his head. “He stayed with it until it was ash, pacing back and forth around the fire pit. When it was gone, he got a blanket off the couch, lay in the hammock, and covered his head. He didn’t even take Maggie with him. She was crying by his hammock until I put her with him. He got up in the afternoon to go meditate with you and then went back into the hammock. He’s been withdrawn since then.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

“I can’t figure it out. Was it something about the binding? He has other books bound in leather.”

“Maybe he didn’t like one of the myths.”

Barabas sighed. “Sometimes I wish I could open his head and fiddle with his brain to put it back the way it needs to be.”

I poured water into our teacups and pushed honey toward him.

Beating around the bush any longer would just waste his and my time. “I was rude to you yesterday. I’m sorry. I’m trying to stay myself, but it’s been difficult lately.”

“Apology accepted,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, too. I know you’re under a lot of pressure. And you’re right, I wasn’t there.”

Well, this wasn’t awkward. Not at all. I stared into my tea.

“Do you know why I left the Pack?” Barabas asked.

“No.” I never understood it. He had so much going for him there. Jezebel seemed absorbed in keeping track of Julie and guarding my back. She threw herself into it. Barabas, however, ended up running the Pack’s legal department. He was viewed as the Beast Lord’s personal lawyer. He didn’t have the longest tenure or the most experience, but people deferred to him anyway.

“I went as far as I could go there,” Barabas said. “I’ll never be an alpha. I don’t want to be an alpha. I didn’t even want to be the lead counsel. I like problem solving. I like taking a crisis, breaking it into manageable pieces, and finding a solution. I don’t like the minutiae. I don’t like paperwork.”

“You like trials, though?” He always seemed really keyed up before the trials.

“The last trial I handled involved a custody dispute and the divorce of my mother’s best friend’s daughter and a human she married. The opposing counsel asked for copies of income tax returns for the last five years. We obliged and sent them to him. During the pretrial hearing, he couldn’t figure out where they were, and then he found the tax returns for the first two years, but not the last three. He claimed we didn’t provide them, which made no sense because he had the first two and they were all in the same packet. He speculated that they might have been lost in the mail, except we had hand-delivered them to his office. He’s standing there shuffling his papers, and I wanted more than anything in the world to rip him open and chew on his insides.”

I laughed into my cup.

“Standing still required such an effort of will, my hands actually shook.” Barabas smiled. “One of my professors in law school referred to this as the glorious drudgery of the legal profession. I’ve had all the glory I can stand. Working for the Pack was just that, working for someone else. It was the thing I did, while waiting for something else to come along. I was a glorified servant.”

“Barabas . . .”

He held up his hand. “I’m not implying that it was the result of something you or Curran did. It was simply the nature of the position. And there is honor in service to a greater cause. But I wanted something that was mine. Separating from the Pack would give me the chance to figure out what that something would be.”

“Makes sense.” Separating with us was about the only way a shapeshifter could leave the Pack and still reside in Atlanta.

“When I bought shares in the Guild, Curran and I became partners in an enterprise. ‘Partners’ being the key word here. We’re equal. We’re streamlining the Guild, hammering it into shape, and it’s working. Our gig load has been steadily growing by five to ten percent each month.”

He leaned forward, alert, his eyes bright and focused. “This is something that’s mine.”

I nodded.

“I like my work. I love the house I live in. I take care of Christopher. According to my mother, I’ve been a wild card in every relationship I’ve ever tried, always looking for someone to ground me, so being a caretaker is good for me. The point is, I finally enjoy my life, Kate. I don’t want this to stop.”

“Neither do I.”

“When things happen that threaten it, I get alarmed. I’m sorry I overreacted. The Guild is my thing. I own it, I nurture it, I make it grow. So I understand, Kate. This city is your thing.”

“I don’t own it.”

“And I’m relieved that you still hold to that. But the facts are as follows: You guard it, you protect it with your life, and you feel responsible for it. You want it to prosper and you don’t want your father to lay claim to it. Setting aside legalities and moral scruples, you own it, Kate, and when your father stretches his hand toward it, you freak out.”

“He has no right to it.”

“It’s important to remember that neither do you.”

I felt an itch under my jaw, an uncomfortable need to clench my teeth.

He was watching me very closely. “Is it difficult to come to terms with that?”

“Yes.” I should’ve lied.

“I think that’s how your father must’ve started. I realize it’s ancient history, eons ago, but he must’ve had a kingdom.”

Oh, why not? It’s not like I had to keep secrets anymore anyway.

“It was called the kingdom of Shinar. It started with the cities of Akkad, Erech, and Calneh. That entire region was a series of small kingdoms, all magically powerful and more or less equal, ruled by family dynasties. They were aware of other powers, as far north as France and as far south as the Congo, but they were content to stay in Mesopotamia. It was different back then. There were two more rivers, the climate was mild, and Mesopotamia was a beautiful garden.”

“Like Eden.” Barabas nodded.

“Not like. Eden’s river had four tributaries—Pison, Gihon, Euphrates, and Hiddekel—that united into a single river before rushing into the sea. The Euphrates is still there. The Hiddekel is now called Tigris. The Pison was a river that flowed all the way through northern Arabia, a place known to the biblical Hebrews as Havilah. It has since dried up. The Gihon is the river Karum, which is now a lot smaller than it used to be. These four rivers joined together into a single enormous river that had flowed through the valley of Eden into the Persian Gulf until the plain of Eden drowned. The kingdoms were powerful but even they couldn’t halt the Flandrian Transgression, when the glaciers melted and flooded the oceans.”

Barabas stared at me like I had grown a second head. “Kate. Are you trying to tell me that your family comes from Eden?”

“From that general vicinity.”

“So Roland, I mean Nimrod, is actually a grandson of Adam? Real Adam?”

I sighed. “Adam wasn’t a person. Adam was a city.”

He stared at me.

“In the language of the Ubaid, who were there first, Eden means ‘fertile plain’ and Adam means ‘city of the plains.’ There was a real Cain, but he didn’t murder his biological brother. He favored agriculture and was forced out by the hunters and herders who saw his ways as having too great of an impact on their lands.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You asked how my father became what he is. I don’t know all of the details, but at the start, he and my aunt were liberators. They brought freedom, civilization, and enlightenment, but they never stopped. They kept rolling, taking city after city and then snuffing out rebellions when their empire became too large.”

“They were heroes,” Barabas said softly.

“Until they became tyrants.” And I understood exactly how it happened.

“Do you think people tried to stop them?”

“Probably. There must’ve been people who told them they were going too far, but I doubt they survived very long. My father doesn’t like the word ‘no.’”

“I’ll be there to tell you ‘no,’” he said.

“My family history isn’t exactly inspiring. I may kill you one day, Barabas.”

“I’ll take that chance. I believe in you, Kate.”

Curran walked down the stairs. He had to have heard that last bit. The man could hear the oven door opening all the way in the pasture, especially if he was waiting for a pie.

“Alright, then,” Barabas said. “I’ve come to talk about Saiman. The problem, as I see it, is that Roland kidnapped Saiman, according to his own admission, when Saiman was outside your lands. Technically, he isn’t in breach of the treaty the two of you signed.”

“Yes, but if he sits by . . .”—my, no, wrong—“our land and grabs the citizens as they leave, then the city is under siege. A siege is an act of war, so he is in breach, which is what I told him. He didn’t address it, so he knows he’s in a gray area.”

Barabas stopped for a moment. “Kate, sometimes you really surprise me. Yes, you’re right. But it’s still an indirect action. You and your father are in a state of cold war. If you respond directly by attempting to retrieve Saiman by force, the conflict heats up.”

“She needs plausible deniability,” Curran said. “We have to snatch the degenerate back, but she can’t be directly involved.”

“What are the chances that your father would retaliate directly if you weren’t involved?” Barabas asked.

“Slim to none,” I said.

Curran nodded. “Agreed. Roland maintains the outward appearance of being a man of his word. He means to rule. A ruler’s word is binding.”

“If he was displeased with something ‘my people’ had done, he would take it up with me.”

“That was my assessment as well,” Barabas said. “It’s very clear from the photographic evidence that Saiman was taken against his will. It’s unlikely he’s having a pleasant visit. Given a chance, he would probably do almost anything to get out.”

“Including hiring the Guild to rescue him,” Curran said.

Barabas bared his teeth in a quick flash. “Indeed.”

“For that to happen, we’d have to communicate with Saiman,” I said.

“And that’s where it all grinds to a screeching halt,” Barabas said.

“But at least that’s a specific problem we can work on,” Curran said. “We need to go through the mercs and see if anyone has any talents that might let us communicate with Saiman inside Roland’s compound.”

“That’s problem one. Problem two, Roland knows we’ll be coming,” Barabas said. “We have no element of surprise.”

“I may be able to help with that,” I said.

“How?” Curran asked.

To tell him or not to tell him? “Okay, remember the stupid reckless thing I can’t tell you about?”

His eyes shone. Oh, yes, he remembered.

“It involves going back to Mishmar.”

Barabas dropped his teacup and caught it an inch above the table. Shapeshifter reflexes for the win.

“Why?” Curran asked.

“I can’t tell you.”

A roar rumbled in Curran’s throat. Barabas sat back a bit.

I shuddered. “So scary. Still can’t tell you.”

He opened his mouth.

“Lorelei,” I said.

Curran swore.

Barabas grinned.

“Don’t,” Curran warned him.

“My father told me that he has a warning system set up in Mishmar. The moment I walk in there, he’ll drop everything and rush over there by some mysterious magical means. He didn’t tell me how, but I think whatever method he’ll be using will be damn fast.”

“Why?” Barabas asked.

“Because he doesn’t want me talking to my grandmother.”

Barabas looked at Curran.

Curran shrugged. “It’s a family thing. Sometimes your father puts your semidead grandmother into a really bad place and is ashamed of it.”

“Yeah,” Barabas said. “We’ve all been there.”

“You two are a riot,” I told them. “I don’t think Dad will be teleporting, because teleporting carries risk. If a magic wave ends while he’s in transit, he’s dead, so his travel will take at least some time. If we time it right, I’ll open Mishmar, he’ll take off, and you’ll get a shot at Saiman. You’ll still have to go through my father’s people.”

“Not a problem,” Curran said. “Something that is a problem: Mishmar is on your father’s land. He’s strongest there. If he’s going to Mishmar, you need to get away before he gets there. How are you planning on doing that?”

“According to the Witch Oracle, on a flying horse.” Also someone’s head was involved and it was important. I wish I knew whose head.

“Kate,” Curran said. “You’re terrified of heights.”

Heights or my son dying on my father’s spear? Not even a choice. “Double excitement.”

“Going to borrow Eduardo’s father’s horse?” Barabas asked.

“No, Amal won’t let anyone but Bahir ride her. Julie talked about sightings of flying horses last week. I thought I’d tug on that and see what happens.”

“You’re not serious?” Curran frowned at me. “You don’t even know if those flying horses are rideable.”

“My father won’t expect a flying horse. The Witch Oracle saw me on one, so the least I can do is cross it off my list. I don’t have a lot of choices if I want to outrun my father. He can do many things, but last I checked he couldn’t fly.”

If Julie talked about it, she must have filed a report somewhere in the office. If there was one thing Julie was good at, it was keeping a record of everything odd she came across.

“So what will you do in Mishmar?” Curran asked casually.

I got up, kissed him, and went to get dressed.

WHEN I GOT to Cutting Edge, Peanut wasn’t there. This was getting ridiculous.

Inside, Ascanio greeted me with a salute and a bright smile. “Good morning, Alpha Sharrim.”

Why me? “Where is Julie?”

“Escaped half an hour ago.”

Argh.

I went to the larger filing cabinet and rifled through the files. “Where is the Weird Crap folder?”

“Derek has it.” Ascanio walked over to Derek’s desk, grabbed the folder, and handed it to me.

I flipped through it, looking through paper notes and newspaper clippings. This was the folder where we stuffed everything that came across our desks that was too odd even for us or had no explanation. Let’s see, tentacle monster in the sewer on Grimoire Street, ball of blue lightning, no, no, no . . . Here it was, a newspaper article with notes written in Julie’s firm hand:

Third report of a flying horse in the area. Horse is described as 15–17 hands tall and golden in color. Horse breeds of ancient Greece were mostly ponies: Skyros pony, 10 hands average, Thessalonian pony, 11 hands average. Weird.

I flipped the page back to the newspaper clipping.

Milton County.

Misdemeanors: Jeremiah B. Eakle and Chad L. Eakle, charges of public indecency and disorderly conduct while intoxicated.

That was it. No additional text, no explanation of the article. No notes. Were these the people who reported seeing the flying horse? How were they connected? I flipped through the rest of the folder. The notes said this was the third report, so where were the other two?

I looked at Ascanio. “Where’s the rest?”

He shrugged his shoulders, his face a picture of perfect innocence. “Julie was the one who filed it. I just work here. I have no idea why the Blond Harpy does anything.”

Argh.

I picked up the phone and called home. Maybe she went back.

No answer.

There was a time when that would’ve freaked me the hell out. Now I took it as a given. Julie, if she was home, wasn’t picking up. Now that I was calm and somewhat rational, I didn’t blame her. In her place, I wouldn’t answer either. We both knew an ugly conversation was coming. Sooner or later, I would track her down. If I wasn’t running out of time, I would’ve done that already.

I dialed Beau Clayton’s office.

No ringing, but lots of dry clicks. The magic must’ve knocked out the phone lines somewhere on the way to Milton County.

“Stay here,” I told Ascanio. “If Julie shows up, tell her that she and I need to talk and to be home at a decent time tonight. My decent, not hers. If Curran shows up, tell him I went to see Beau Clayton. Everybody else can take a number, I’ll deal with it later. If my father shows up, don’t talk to him.”

Ascanio dropped the innocent act. His eyes turned serious. “I want to come with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I never get to and your father tried to slap you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You need backup.”

He wasn’t wrong. Given that he was seventeen now, six feet tall, and able to control his aggression enough to think during a fight, I could do worse.

I wrote Went to see Beau on a piece of paper and left it on my desk. “Let’s go.”

I swung the door open a moment before Derek walked through it.

“I heard the conversation. I’m coming,” he said.

Ascanio rolled his eyes. “This will be fun.”

Derek parked himself in the doorway. “You need backup.”

“She has backup.”

“Yes, but someone will have to carry the Prince of Hyenas if he accidentally stabs his pinkie toe, and she isn’t a shapeshifter.”

“Fine.” I headed for my vehicle.

Behind me Ascanio snorted. “Idiot wolf.”

“Spoiled bouda brat.”

“Bigot.”

“Crybaby.”

“Shit for brains.”

“Momma’s boy.”

Universe, grant me patience.

I WALKED INTO Beau’s office carrying six bottles of root beer and a bucket of fried chicken. Beau raised his head from the paperwork he was reading behind his desk, sniffed the air, and sat up straighter.

Beau Clayton, the sheriff of Milton County, was a man who made his own legend. A few months ago Hugh d’Ambray had come to collect me and take me to meet my father. He went about it in a complicated way, and one of the Pack’s members ended up murdering one of the People’s Masters of the Dead. The People demanded that the Pack turn over the accused. We refused. They would’ve murdered her. She was entitled to a trial.

The People emptied the stables under the Casino and brought a vampire horde to attack the Keep. I was the Consort back then and most of our people were out of town. It was me and some regular Pack members, mostly parents with small children.

I had contacted the Atlanta PAD offering to surrender the guilty woman to their custody, but they didn’t want to risk it. Nobody wanted to risk it, so as a last resort I called Beau Clayton, because one hundred twelve square yards of the Pack’s land lay within Milton County. It had to be the flimsiest excuse ever used to establish jurisdiction.

The People besieged us, bringing hundreds of vampires. The field before the Keep was about to become a bloodbath. Beau Clayton chose that moment to ride between the two lines of fighters. He didn’t bring an army. He brought two deputies, put himself between the Keep and the horde of undead, and told them that he had been lawfully elected sheriff by the people of Milton County. He was the law and he had arrived to take the suspect into his custody. And then he told them to disperse.

I didn’t get to see the end of it all, but war didn’t break out on that field. The People took their vampires and went home. Beau took his suspect into custody and proceeded unmolested to the Milton County jail. People started calling him Beau the Brave.

Looking at Beau, it was easy to see why he would inspire legends. Huge, six foot six, with massive shoulders and powerful arms, he made his big wooden desk look small, but it wasn’t his size alone. There was something unflappable about Beau. A kind of measured steady calm. He knew exactly what his mission in life was: he was the voice of reason and when reason failed, he enforced the law.

“Is that fried chicken?”

“Yes.”

“Virginia’s fried chicken?”

Virginia made the best fried chicken in North Atlanta and never tried to pass rat meat off as chicken tenders. I managed to look offended. “Of course it is. Who do you take me for?”

Beau leaned back. “Might you be trying to bribe a law enforcement official, Ms. Daniels?”

“You bet.”

Beau glanced at Derek. “Gaunt.”

Derek nodded. “Sheriff.”

Beau turned to Ascanio. “And who would you be?”

I almost opened my mouth to tell him he was our intern and stopped myself. He was willing to take adult risks, he would get an adult introduction. “He’s Ascanio Ferara of Clan Bouda. He works with me.”

Ascanio blinked.

Beau took a long look at Ascanio, probably committing the name and face combination to the extensive files in his sheriff memory. “So how’s business?”

“Fair to middling. How’s yours?”

“About the same. Things quieted down a bit in the last six months.”

“It’s because of your name recognition.” I opened my root beer and took a swig. “‘Beau the Brave’ has a certain menacing ring to it.”

Beau grunted.

“Imagine, in about three hundred years, they will tell legends about you,” I said.

“They will,” Derek added. “Beau the Brave, nine feet tall, able to behead ten vampires in a single swing.”

“Never thought about it much,” Beau said. “But if it keeps the ne’er-do-wells from causing mischief, I can live with it.”

“Ne’er-do-wells?” Derek asked.

“I read.” Beau looked slightly offended.

“Ancient literature?” Ascanio inquired. “Did it have words like ‘dame’ and ‘stool pigeon’ in it?”

“Do you make your deputies call you ‘copper’?” Derek asked.

“Have you two ever thought of taking your show on the road?” Beau asked them.

If Beau’s legend grew big enough and enough people believed in it, he would live for a long time and he might even grow taller. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that. He didn’t look comfortable with the whole thing as it was.

“So what can I do for you?” he asked.

I took out the scrap of the article and pushed it across the table toward him.

He glanced at the clipping. “What’s your interest in the Eakle brothers?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Ahh. You’re in the market for a gold winged horse.”

Gold? Julie’s notes said golden in color. “Something like that. Can you tell me more?”

Beau sipped his root beer. “Chad and Jeremy Eakle are Caleb and Mary Eakle’s sons. Nice enough fellows, but not a lot of brains between the two of them. Never been in serious trouble. My deputies had a few run-ins with them some years back, when they were in high school. Nothing too bad, typical petty things bored kids do: throwing beer bottles at stop signs, making bonfires, mooning people off the Cassidy Bridge. The usual. Both have jobs and families now. Both go to church.”

“Sound like good law-abiding citizens,” I said. Making Beau spill the beans faster would require more magic than my father and I could put together.

“Pretty much. Last Saturday, they were drinking beer and fishing in the Blue River Forest. They’d been at it for a few hours, in which they went halfway through a small keg from Jekyll Brewery.”

A small keg in post-Shift Atlanta held three gallons, which meant the two Eakle brothers had put away about a six-pack and change each.

“The day turned hot. Since nobody was around, they’d taken off their clothes to go swimming, when a ‘big gold horse’ with wings walked out of the woods on the opposite bank and started drinking. The two geniuses decided to try to catch it and made it partway across the river, when, according to them, ‘a winged devil’ landed on the horse and told them to run before he devoured their souls.”

Well, that escalated quickly. Winged devil, huh. “And this devil rode the horse?”

“Supposedly.”

So the winged horses were rideable.

“Apparently, the Eakle boys took him seriously, because they got the hell out of the river and ran naked and screaming through the woods right into a Girl Scout campground, where two rival troops of Girl Scouts were having an archery competition. The Girl Scouts joined forces to subdue the interlopers.”

Ascanio snorted.

Beau’s eyes shone. “When my deputies got there, they were trussed up like two hogs. Jeremiah Eakle sustained an arrow shot to his left buttock. It was determined not to be life-threatening, so the arrow was extracted, and we booked them for indecent exposure and intoxication in a public place. They’ve sobered up and were released on their own recognizance. They don’t remember much, except for the soul-devouring bit.”

Just my luck.

“However, I, being an experienced member of law enforcement, sent one of my deputies to check out their story and collect their clothes, and she recovered some evidence from the scene. Evidence that may be of interest to you.”

Why did I get the sudden feeling that this would cost me? “May I see that evidence?”

“I need a favor,” Beau said.

Of course. “Shoot.”

“There is an elderly woman. Jene Boudreaux.”

He pronounced “Jene” as Zhe-nay.

“She is in her eighties, lives alone, and her neighbors have been reporting odd things. Weird noises, disconcerting smells, and one of them swears he saw her pick up a dead pigeon his cat didn’t finish off the lawn and take it into her house. So I had my people do a health and welfare check. If she was starving and resorting to picking up dead pigeons, we have a moral obligation to do something about it. My deputy went out there. She was muttering under her breath and then out of nowhere she lunged at him and bit him on the shoulder hard enough to draw blood. He took her in after that.”

“Did you check her teeth?” I asked. The teeth were one of the first parts to show signs of a human turning into something else.

“Yes. Normal human teeth. I had a chat with her. We didn’t get anywhere. So we put her in a cell and called down to the psychiatric unit in the city to come and evaluate her. She was in that cell for about an hour. When Connie went to do her rounds, she found the cell door open and the old lady was gone.”

Better and better. “Nobody saw her leave?”

Beau shook his head. “And the cameras weren’t running, since the magic was up. A group of kids walking home from school saw her take off for the woods. We tried to follow her with bloodhounds, but the dogs refused to track. She’s been gone about ten hours. Since you have not one but two members of the Pack at your disposal, here’s the deal. You track down Jene Boudreaux, and I’ll let you examine the evidence you need.”

Even if the evidence was crap, I still owed Beau. “I’ll take that deal, but I want to see her house. I’d like to know what I’m walking into.”

“Fine by me.” Beau raised his voice. “Robby!”

A lanky blond deputy materialized in the doorway.

“This is Robert Holland,” Beau said. “Robert will go with you and provide assistance and legal authority.”

“Folks,” Holland nodded at us.

“Mrs. Boudreaux has been a part of our community for all of her life,” Beau said. “Her husband drove my sons to school in his armored bus when he was alive. She is known to people. I want it to be understood that even if Mrs. Boudreaux isn’t herself, Deputy Holland is the one who gives the all clear. If violence is inevitable, it must be authorized by one of us.”

Fine by me.

JENE BOUDREAUX LIVED in a small older house typical of the pre-Shift Georgia suburbs: one story, about twelve hundred square feet, a wooden fence and an abundance of plants and hedges up front. The plants had seen better days and the hedges were blocking the windows.

Twenty feet from the house, Derek and Ascanio stopped in unison.

“Odd smell?” I guessed.

“Mm-hm.” Derek inhaled and grimaced. “Smells like hot iron.”

A few feet from the door I smelled it too, a thick, sharp odor. It didn’t smell like anything in particular; it was its own ugly scent that cut across my senses like a knife. Something bad lived here.

Robert Holland put the key into the lock and opened the door. “We confiscated the keys when we arrested her.”

“Did you get to see her at all during any of this?”

He shook his head. “Shannon made the arrest. I do know her. My mother used to run a crafting club, where the older ladies would gather together, socialize, and knit or quilt.”

The knitting circle. More and more of those were springing up, as machine-knit clothes became harder to come by.

“Old ladies come in two flavors: sweet or mean. She was the mean kind. But my momma always tried to include her, until she flat-out refused to come about three years ago.”

The inside of the house was dark. Thick curtains blocked the light. I pulled them aside, letting the day in through the glass patio door. No bars on the frame. Odd. Apparently Jene wasn’t afraid of whatever the magic-fueled night could spawn.

A layer of dust coated the old furniture. Derek tried it with his fingers. “Sticky.”

Not dust, grime. The kind of grime that accumulated after years of willful neglect.

“When did she go weird?” Ascanio asked.

“She was always an odd bird,” Holland said. “She had a real glare on her. I checked the log. We’d been called out before about a year ago. Some kids were playing on the street and being loud. They said she came out of the house and clicked her teeth at them. Scared them half to death. Parents filed a complaint. There were probably incidents before that, but most folks here live and let live, so it’s hard to say.”

Great. Kate Daniels, tracker of old ladies with a biting fetish. And me without my armor.

Derek pulled the glass door open and stepped out into the yard.

No pictures on the walls. No dishes in the sink. Dust on the sink’s edges. Not cleaning is one thing, but when you ran water, inevitably some splashed on the counter. No splash marks disturbed the dust. Ascanio opened the fridge.

“Empty.”

I didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Kate?” Derek called.

I stepped outside. The yard looked perfectly ordinary. Green grass, shrubs, and bird feeders. Many, many bird feeders in every shape and size. I could see at least two baited cage traps under the bushes.

Derek stepped closer to me.

“I smell one of Roland’s people.”

Great. “Which one?”

“I don’t know. But this scent was at his base when we went to talk to him. Now it’s here.”

I went back inside and moved to the first bedroom. Dark stains marked the round doorknob. I reached into my pocket, drew a length of gauze, wrapped it around the handle, and swung it open.

The stench hit me then, like a slap to the face. Bones tumbled toward me, and I jumped back as they rolled onto the filthy carpet.

“Holy crap,” Holland said.

If the bedroom had carpet at one point, there was no way to tell what color it was. At least six or seven inches’ worth of small animal bones covered the floor. A lot of bird carcasses. A few raccoon skeletons, some cat bones. They probably had a problem with missing pets in this neighborhood. All the bones were clean and smooth. I reached down with my gauze and picked up a small dog’s femur. The marrow had been sucked out.

“Picked clean,” Ascanio said.

She must’ve been throwing them in through the window, because there was no way she could’ve opened the door without all of them falling out.

The bones reeked. Decomposition didn’t smell like that and there was nothing here to decompose anyway. No, this was the sharp odor of the spit she deposited as she licked the bones clean. No wonder the bloodhounds didn’t follow her. This stench made my hair stand on end.

I glanced at Derek. “Can you follow her trail?”

“Sure. Following isn’t a problem,” he said.

“Let’s do that.” I didn’t want her running around unsupervised in my land, especially if my father’s people were involved, although I had no clue why he was interested in her. This wasn’t my father’s magic, structured, almost scientific in its precision. This was something old and dark that crept about in the night.

“What is she, Kate?” Ascanio asked, as we left the house.

“I have no idea.”